


Blood on the Sword

by Icka M Chif (mischif)



Category: Alice in Wonderland (2010)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Kinkmeme, Minor Character Death, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-29
Updated: 2010-03-29
Packaged: 2017-10-08 09:50:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischif/pseuds/Icka%20M%20Chif
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alice is trapped between the Hatter and a Hard Place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood on the Sword

**Author's Note:**

> For the **[2010_alice_kink](http://community.livejournal.com/2010_alice_kink/388.html)** meme. Plot appeared in an attempt to answer the question, 'What would make Hatter's eyes go Fiery Orange?'  
> _Prompt: alice x tarrant (mad hatter) - sex with dark tarrant/hatter (ie: Underlandish accent, red eyes, forceful nature, etc.)_

Tarrant is Mad.

Which is a silly thought to think, Tarrant is known as the Mad Hatter, he is always mad.

No, he is not **Mad** right now per se, Tarrant is _furious_. His eyes have faded from the friendly insane green they usually are to the golden red of fire, like there is a fire inside of her friend that is burning him up, consuming him, from the inside out. Even his clothing is lacking in colour at the moment, appearing to be clad in dark shadows, save for the spots of colour on his tie.

”Ah sometimes wonder.” He murmurs, his Outlandish accent thick, like it’s an effort for him to speak so she can understood instead of lapsing into his mother tongue. “Wa Ah survived, an’ they didne.”

Something twists in Alice’s belly as she stares at him, ignoring the soft slurping sounds the moat of severed heads that surround Salazen Grum makes. Pale faces stare at them from beyond the abyss, faces frozen in their final expressions. Weary resignation mostly. Some are angry, mouths open in silent screams or sobs.

She climbed over some of them once, to cross the moat to get into the Red Queen’s castle in hopes of rescuing her Hatter. Hands and feet slipping on their placid features, on the crimson blood that the moat was filled with.

Alice cannot tell him that now. She cannot tell him that she is no better than the Red Queen who ordered the heads of his friends to be severed, that she is a killer now, she has taken a life.

There is a little spark, like a small song bird, in her heart, fiercely glad that she did kill, she killed before he did, preventing him from doing so. That her gentle mad Hatter does not have the blood on his hands that she does.

In the privacy of her own mind, she curses sometimes, that it took so long for Gribling Day to arrive. For her to return. For her to understand that she was not dreaming, that she had a choice to not kill and destroy her friends, or to kill and save those that had become so dear to her.

Because she couldn’t save them all. Those are Tarrant’s friends are in there, fallen to the Executioner’s blade for the sake of the Red Queen’s whims.

She feels guilt because she didn't kill soon enough. He feels guilt because he survived.

Looking at Tarrant as he stares at the remains of his friends with those burning eyes, she realises for the first time that he’s not just _Tarrant_, her friend, her loyal companion, but a man as well. She’s always known that he was _male_ in the same way that she knows his hair is red, but this is the first time she’s looking at him as a man. A man who had survived a lot.

”Hatter.” Alice says softly, resting a hand on his arm. It’s like touching a wall, just the barest trembling under her touch letting her know that she’s not touching a mannequin. Words seem foolish, not enough to reach him. Sympathy? Support? Guilt? She doesn’t know.

She stands up on tip toe, leaning forward, close enough to smell him, exotic fabrics and _male_ in that strange way that separates the genders, and kissing his smooth cheek.

Tarrant turns to look at her, burning eyes latching on to her and she feels momentarily frozen, burning up from the inside except for her heartbeat which flutters and picks up, jumping into her throat.

For a brief second, she is afraid.

Then she is not.

She is Alice and he is the Hatter. She is not afraid of him.

”Ah, ma sweet Bonnie.” He rumbles, his voice rich with dark affection. “That’s nae hoo ye kiss.”

And then he’s right there, one hand curled in her tangled locks. There is a slight hesitation, as if he is waiting for her to pull away, and then his mouth on hers. It’s heat and pressure and she’s not quite sure how to respond, her eyes open and seeing him in a blur of orange, green and white. She’s never kissed anyone, been kissed before. She gasps and he swallows it, takes the sound and turns it into the hungry growl of a predator.

He feels alive, not cold and dead like the area surrounding them does.

It sends goosebumps up her arms, her flesh prickling, but she is not afraid. Her eyes close, for propriety’s sake, she has seen other people kiss and their eyes are usually shut, and she lets go, relaxing against him. Tarrant keeps her upright, the hand not in her hair wrapping around her waist and keeping her upright, pressed against his solid body.

Tarrant kisses like he’s trying to eat her alive, biting her lower lip, then soothing the sting with his tongue before doing it again. She returns the favour, smiling at the noise he makes, pride warring with heady emotions. She feels as if she could get drunk off of his kisses, her fingers tangling in his coarse hair, just long enough to tangle her fingers in it.

Then they’re moving, Tarrant pushing her backwards and she following, like it’s some sort of unchoreographed dance, she trusting him to know where they are going without removing their mouths. Which he does, her back touching the smooth stone one of the statuary remains that surround the castle. She’s pinned, pressed between the Hatter and a Hard Place.

She doesn’t mind at all. “Hatter…” Alice murmurs against his lips.

”Ma proper name.” He rumbles, drawing back slightly, releasing her from his grasp to trace her features with a light touch. His bare fingers are calloused and rough from handling needles, the metal of the thimbles are cool against her skin and she shivers. “Alice. Say it.”

She never has, because he’s never given her permission. She is ‘The Champion’ or ‘M’Lady’ to the citizens of Underland. Save for her dear Hatter, whom she is always Alice. Nothing more, nothing less than Alice.

”Tarrant.” The word drops from her lips, the whooshing sound of a fresh storm, the first crack of thunder in the distance. He presses against her again, urgently this time, holding her head still as he plunders her mouth. He’s burning hot to the touch and she wants more. More of him, more heat, more contact. She curls a leg around him and he makes an encouraging sound, grabbing her thigh and lifting it until her leg is curled around his hip. Legs splayed like this, she can feel him against her most intimate parts through the layers of fabric.

He’s hard. And hot, so much hotter here than the rest of him. It’s not proper in the least and she doesn’t care. “Tarrant.” She whispers again and he snarls in response, grabbing her other leg and lifting her up so she’s held up only because she’s pinned between him and the stone pressing against her shoulder blades. She wraps her legs around his waist, locking them behind his back by crossing her ankles. He makes a growling sound, ribcage vibrating against hers as he releases her mouth to attack her neck

Alice bites back a shriek as she jerks in Tarrant’s grasp. It’s a shock, she knew new that that part of her body could cause that kind of reaction. She grabs his head, hard enough it’s got to hurt, holding him there as he does it again. She can’t hold still, writhing against him and he encourages it, nipping at her flesh, then soothing with his lips.

The image of what they must look like flickers through her head and she blushes. That does not stop her actions however and she clings tighter to him, buring her face in his neck and delivering a nip of her own. The answering growl sends the blood back down to pool in her belly, which feels uncommonly warm, like it is made of heated jelly.

In England, she would not dared to do this. Both her sister Margaret and her mother would severely disapprove of her behaviour, acting like a two-cent street whore, spreading her legs with her back pressed against a brick wall.

However, this is Underland, not England.

And more importantly, he is her Hatter.

And she wants this. This… this that the Chattaway Sisters would whisper about behind fans and hands, giving just enough information to be curious about without ever _knowing_. She wants Tarrant, her companion of the mercurial moods. Wants this… warmth and passion.

Fingers slide along her shin, tracing up over her knee, along her inner thigh, dragging the folds of her dress away, exposing her legs. Her bare legs. She never had cared much for propriety anyway, much less uncomfortable undergarments. And it’s not like anyone here _cares_ what she does or does not wear under her clothing.

“Oh, _Alice_…” Tarrant seizes her lips in a fierce kiss, fingers tracing where leg met hip. “Naughty ghirl.” He murmurs, a light tease, as she gasps at the exploration. It’s like being tickled, only… not. Better. More severe. She doesn’t know if she wants to get away from it, or press closer.

Then a finger traces the line of her intimate areas, then slips inside, investigating her inner folds and all she can do is gasp. She can feel him, feel the liquid there and can only distantly wonder about how wet she is down there. That she is wet.

Then he touches something and it’s like a jolt, being hit by lightening, her back arching as she gasps. Tarrant chuckles, a low dangerous sound as he does it again, her hips buckling, thrusting towards him on their own violation. She gives herself over to the feeling, the sensations he creates, hands gripping his shoulders as she trusts him not to let her fall. She babbles, nonsense words and breathless noises as everything seems to fly away from her, her mind sliding away as he drove her higher and higher with his arousing attentions.

His nimble fingers slip, one of them sliding partway _inside_ of her and she howls, the world fading completely away, awash in sensation and pleasure.

When she can focus again, he’s kissing her, just the simple press of lips against hers. She leans forward, kissing him back as her heartbeat finally start to slow down, a buzzing sense of euphoria filling her.

Tarrant mutters illegible in Outlandish against her lips, the rawness of his voice sending goosebumps along her skin again. She feels him shift, a pressure between her legs again, something hot pressing against her slick entrance.

A sudden thrust and suddenly he’s _inside_ of her.

Pain.

Alice gasps, her throat closing in on a scream as she freezes, her muscles locking up. It hurts, it hurts, too big, much too big, like something’s trying to split her in half, rip her apart from the inside.

”Alice?” Tarrant freezes, burning ember eyes lightening to yellow, then green again. “Donnae teel me…” He says, his expression shifting to something like horror as the dark shades of his clothing fading to muted greys. “It’s your first time?”

She bites the inside of her lip and nods once, momentarily unable to convince her throat to let words pass.

He shifts, like he’s trying to slide out of her and she grabs him tighter. “Don’t.” She hisses and he stops moving again, his large eyes worried and anxious. Alice takes a deep breath, trying to remember how to relax around what feels like an intruder in her body. She’d heard it was going to hurt, at least the first time.

”Give me a moment.” Alice whispers, releasing a shoulder to cup the side of his face, running the side of her thumb under his eyes, hating to see the pain there. Tarrant takes a shuddering breath, nodding, his head bowed. She rests her forehead against his, feeling the warmth of his breath on her face, breathing in the scent that is Tarrant and slowly untenses her body. It’s not as uncomfortable once she does, Tarrant not so huge inside of her.

She knows that this will feel good. It helps, the memory of the pleasure he just brought her, knowing that it will feel that good again.

One it feels better, she shifts, so she can bring their mouths together. He kisses differently now, slowly, so soft, like he’s worshiping her lips with his, hands idly petting her, soothing touches. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs, the cool touch of a thimble brushing her temple. “If I had known…” The regret is thick in his voice. If he had known, he would have done things differently.

It would have hurt no matter what he did. Such is the nature of things. She accepts it and moves on.

”Don’t.” She pulls him closer, covering his mouth with hers, keeping him from talking. The motion makes their bodies slide against each other and it hurts where they’re joined, but it’s duller sore ache rather than the stabbing knife edge of pain. She slowly rocks her hips, experimentally and it hurts even less that time. “Go slowly.” She orders, running a hand through his hair.

He nods, withdrawing slightly, then carefully pressing back in. It still hurts, but it is an ache she can deal with. It helps when she moves in time to his movements, both of them going slowly, getting used to each other like this. She chases his kisses, distracting herself with his touch and taste. He tastes like the tea they had before their journey here, comforting, familiar.

A hand traces the curve of her leg again, brushing the damp nest of curls before touching where he is inside of her, finding the spot that brought her so much pleasure earlier. It does again this time as well, sending a jolt of sensation through her that causes her to jerk in his grasp. “Alice?” He questions.

”It’s good.” She assures him. Very good. “Do it again?”

He laughs, the nervous touch of hysteria creeping in and she silences him with another kiss. He does as she requested, clever fingers barely touching that place that sends sparks through her body, the other hand braced, supporting them both. She wants to touch him, hands sliding under his rough wool jacket, blocked by the barrier formed by his waistcoat and shirt.

”Next time.” Alice says, her thoughts bypassing her brain and going straight out of her mouth. “I want you without clothing.” The cloth is an annoying barrier, she wants to feel the slide of flesh on flesh.

Tarrant lets out a moan, like she’s ripped something from inside of him out as he kisses her, fiercely this time. “Donnae say thin's like that.” He informs her, his voice raw as his eyes shift towards the yellow spectrum again. “Unless ye want thes ta end’ tae soon.”

She smiles, her own laugh threatening to bubble out. “Or unless I mean it.”

The next thrust is particularly hard and it rocks her entire body as she _feels_ him, deep inside her just before he locks up again. “Ma Bonnie…” Tarrant warns, eyes shifting to orange. She takes the opportunity to shift her legs back up around his waist instead of his solid hips, holding on to him tighter as she smirks back.

”I want you.” She says simply. It doesn’t hurt anymore, although she’ll probably be feeling it later. She’d be feeling it anyway, she acknowledges silently. So she might as well make it worth her while. His while. Both of their whiles.

He growls, eyes burning like fire again as he pins her hard against the smooth stone, kissing her without abandon as his hips snap forward, pounding into her. It’s good, it’s raw and primal and she’s swept up in it again, her thoughts fading away in the haze of feeling.

They are surrounded by the dead, here outside of Salazen Grum. But they are alive.

She can feel more than hear him murmur to her in Outlandish, his voice rough. She can’t make out the words, only the passion, warmth, and adoration sinking in. She wants to wrap herself around him and bask in it, in him. She has the sensation of flying again, Tarrant driving her higher and higher.

It takes her by surprise, when the world falls away again, leaving her in the void of feeling. She vaguely senses Tarrant stiffen and still inside of her, his own shout deafening in her ears.

He leans against her, face buried against the curve of her neck, his harsh breathing making the skin damp there. Then with a soft groan, he slides towards the earth, taking her with him until she is sitting astride his kneeling legs. The fire that was driving him seems to have faded, leaving behind her weary Hatter. She leans against him as well, fingers carding through his coarse hair, the sensation soft, caring. Surprisingly, his hat has stayed on.

”Alice?” Tarrant finally speaks, his voice quiet, almost subdued. He’s worried and his accent is gone.

”I’m okay.” She assures him. “_We’re_ okay, Tarrant.”

He snorts and she is aware that he is softening inside of her, slowly sliding out. It’s an odd feeling and she’s not quite sure she likes it. Not because it’s painful, but because it leaves her feeling oddly empty, bereft. “_I_…” He says with a touch of mockery and self-scorn, looking down at the ground. “Should be the one assuring _you_.”

She laughs and lifts his head so she can kiss him again. “It was lovely.” Alice reassures him. She watches his expressive eyebrows briefly flick upwards, sceptical. “And I’m sure it’ll get better with practise.” She admits. She could have done without the pain, truly. But it wasn’t as bad as she’d heard it made out to be.

”The best things usually do get better with practise.” Tarrant shyly agrees, his eyes a warm leaf-green again. “But… um…” He hesitates, expression shifting to nervously uncomfortable. “If you could get off my legs? I cannot feel them any longer.”

”Sorry!” She rises, grimacing slightly as Tarrant slides completely out of her with a soft squelching sound. He stabilizes her as she finds her shaking legs again before he rises as well.

”Here.” He offers her a handkerchief from a pocket. It’s soft and white, and she thanks him for it, realising that the inside of her legs is a sticky mess. It’s still warm, but it won’t be for long, and they still have to walk back to Marmoreal. She lifts her skirts up, cleaning herself up the best she can and she’s aware of Tarrant doing the same before fastening his pants again.

When she finishes, she finds Tarrant staring at the handkerchief in his hand, which is smeared with red. Blood, from her broken hymen.

Alice supposes that she should feel different, for not being a virgin anymore, but she doesn’t really. She’s still Alice. Nothing more. Nothing less.

She covers his hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. “The dead can’t bleed.” She says softly, drawing his attention towards her face again. Only the living can.

All they can do for the dead is mourn their passing, and live their lives to their fullest potential. Because they are alive.

He stares at her for a minute, before reaching up and running the back of a finger down her cheek. “You’re right.” He says softly, a small bittersweet smile on his dark pink lips.

Tarrant takes her handkerchief, folding both of them up and tucking them back in a pocket before offering her his hand. She takes it, her small narrow fingers twining between his strong ones. With a small tip of his head, he leads the way from the former Red Queen’s castle.

Together, a survivor and a murderer, they leave Salazen Grum and the dead behind.

-fin-

**Author's Note:**

> (Bleeding the first time someone has sex is a myth, btw. It's a sign your body isn't ready to have things shoved up in it. It worked for the symbolism of the story, which is why it was used. [Laci Green has an excellent 3 minute video about Hymen facts and myths](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9qFojO8WkpA) that is well worth the watch.)


End file.
